The vehemence of Moist’s cry was picked up by Of the Twilight the Darkness immediately.
‘Sure. Easy meat. The bandit men eat anything they can catch. Rats. Moles. Shrews. Birds. Even stinky bird like raven. Eat it up. Yum. Yum. Shit out nasty poisonous stuff. Goblin meat like chicken. Miracle of nature may be not, but no use to goblin when bandits around. They don’t want much, mister, and good job, ’cos they don’t get, but like me will do any job in free air. Place to live not being killed. Yes! Hunky-dory. And no need food in Ankh-Morpork. Big Wahoonie! Rats everywhere!’
‘Okay, Mister Twilight, where do we go from here?’
The goblin gave Moist a cynical look, something which is very easy to do when you’re a goblin, because you learn cynicism early and you learn it fast.
‘You give me half name, Mister Damp. I forgive, have mercy. This time. I ask you. Don’t do again. Is very important. Half name is shame. Challenge to fight. Know you hasty. No understanding. Will forgive you. Will forgive once, Mister Lipwig! This by way of friendly information. No charge incurred.’
Whatever Moist von Lipwig was, he knew the use of the right word at the right time.
‘Mister Of the Twilight the Darkness, thank you for your forbearance.’
It was beginning to rain. Sticky, lazy rain but the goblins seemed to be oblivious to it. These people are the world’s most stoical of stoics, Moist thought, albeit with a sting in their tail. I wonder what they are like when they decide, and they will decide, not to take everything on their greasy chins.
Of the Twilight the Darkness grinned at Moist again and declared, ‘Hey you, mister big hero, mighty warrior, except, hah, these dumb buggers really think you is bee’s bollocks, think sun percolate out your arse.’
Moist realized that Of the Twilight the Darkness’s presentation to the goblins of the delights of Ankh-Morpork and his status in the city might have been somewhat exaggerated.
‘What did you say to make them think that?’
‘These goblins need hope, Mister Lipwig. You ain’t genuine good guy, but you can pretend like no bees’ nest. I have already explained to them that you are great citizen of Ankh-Morpork and dreadful fighter.’
‘Well,’ said Moist, ‘at least you got one bit right. But the bandits have surely been scared off now. The goblins can stay here, can’t they? There’ll be jobs on the railway when it comes through here. They’d like that, wouldn’t they?’
‘Bandit men come back in time. Always is bandits. These goblins can’t fly, Mister Soggy. Long way back to Ankh-Morpork line! Looks for you to get them out of here. Me? I ain’t just fallen off Hogswatch tree. You don’t carry knife, and now it night-time and you are still in maquis. Worse here than just bandits! Bad worse! Everything bad end up in the maquis and you still with no weapon. What are your orders, Mister Big Man?!’
Moist hesitated. He had a feel for this sort of thing, he was sure, and it hardly ever let him down.
‘Okay. We’ll take them with us. But first you must get us out of here.’
‘No, Marvellous von Lipwig is going to take the people out. Plucky goblin sidekick just bring up the rear.’
‘Really? Okay, then. Just point me in the right direction.’
There was a track of sorts, and myriad little pathways in every direction. Moist and his unhappy but hopeful band were shepherded surreptitiously from behind by Of the Twilight the Darkness, who was becoming a great lieutenant, despite the fact that he brazenly considered Moist to be a bit of a tit. But a useful tit all the same.
As they struggled back to what, in a fair wind, might have been called a proper track, Moist told himself that while it was true that Commander Vimes was the man who had been most prominent in the manumission of the goblins, he, Moist, could at least give them a job; you couldn’t have a profession as goblin, now could you? It just made no sense. And yet if there were such a thing as a professional goblin, then it was definitely Of the Twilight the Darkness, who was so goblin that you could imagine that other goblins would tap one another on the shoulder and say, ‘Blimey! Look at that goblin! Doesn’t he look like a goblin to you?’
But jobs got things going, got people going, and raised their self-esteem. After all, goblins, quite apart from now being ubiquitous in the clacks industry, were also doing very well and picking up serious folding money in the ceramics business. Goblin pots were beautiful, extremely fine and as iridescent as a butterfly’s wing.[44]
Moist’s reverie was broken by Of the Twilight the Darkness. ‘These poor herberts behind us think you need to know that dwarfs been asking after you, like sneaky one up tree I saw off. My, can’t the greedy buggers shift when need. Don’t like good flint edge! But still are some around. Reckon they waiting until we get to railway. Right place for ambush.’
Moist had devoted considerable energies to being a non-combatant, words being his weapon of choice, but when words weren’t enough, in extremis he could deliver telling blows with his fists and feet. Right now he was wondering whether to surreptitiously drag said feet a little so that he would be surrounded by the band of goblins if there was an attack. After all, they all had stone weapons, didn’t they? And he didn’t, did he? Goblins acquired a fighting spirit with their mothers’ milk, if indeed their mothers had milk.[45]
They continued cautiously into the ever-deepening dusk, now moving as silently as they could manage. Even the goblin toddlers were quiet as they walked towards the promised land.
They skirted the grounds of the chateau and moved on through the woods in the direction of the railhead. A while later there came a crushed-gravel whisper at Moist’s elbow from Of the Twilight the Darkness.
‘I sending out some of swifter lads to scout ahead. Something not right at railhead. Couldn’t get close enough to see but says at least dozen dwarfs in the woods up there, maybe more. Could hear the buggers clanging. They trying to be surreptitious, but dwarfs has not first idea of surreptition. It’s all been hammer and tongues to dwarfs. Could try go round ’em — but the buggers might try go round us same time. Best, I say, to deal with bogeys today, right? No worry, some these lobster lads know how to fight and they proud you leading them … ain’t you!’
It wasn’t a question, it was a demand. Moist was horribly aware of the whole refugee group clustered around him, their un prepossessing faces full of expectation and miscellaneous fragments of food. There were little ones, some no more than babes in arms. Moist could feel the pressure of their hope which, alas, he knew was unfounded and probably misplaced. He was no leader. Not like Commander Vimes. But what would Of the Twilight the Darkness do if he just ran away? He could outrun any dwarf, make it back to the chateau … but could he outrun a goblin …?
He shivered and shoved that thought to the very back of his mind just as a small goblin woman came up to him.
‘Go into battle with nice cuppa tea!’ she said. ‘Special goblin tea! Very good for you! Boiled in sheep bladder! Excellent when always having to run! Got herbs! You drink! You drink now! Ain’t nothing like a nice cuppa tea. Medicinal it is!’
Of the Twilight the Darkness handed Moist a large goblin club.
‘Many, many ways to die today,’ he said, with devastating humour. ‘Trust elderly goblin, this one very much the best, hang! We hang together.’
Moist understood that last rather unfortunate suggestion. It was the traditional goblin-to-goblin greeting, as in, hang together or hang separately. He swigged the cold tea, which had a harmless accent of hazelnuts with a soupçon of wool, expecting at any moment either to be poisoned or to throw up. In fact, it was … pleasant and it also felt quite nourishing. If there were snails in it, like the wine, then, well, viva escargot! Although the secret ingredient, he was quite sure, was likely to be avec.
44
Unggue pots, as they were called, had a major and sacred part in goblin society. In Ankh-Morpork sensible goblins were making quasi unggue pots for sale, looking like the real thing, Adora Belle said, but with the magic taken out and the wonderful sparkle left in. However, it helped if you didn’t pay too much attention to what the pots
45
There was no point in speculating on what else they could have. Just the thought turned Moist’s stomach.